


Je bois mon thé à petites gorgées.

by feei



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Hannibal, Breathplay, M/M, Painplay, Rough Sex, Top!Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feei/pseuds/feei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My services and effectiveness for comfort are disgraced at the moment, nevertheless, I'm more than willing to oblige."</p>
<p>-Post 1x08. Spoilers. Explicit material e v e n t u a l l y.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Je bois mon thé à petites gorgées.

**Author's Note:**

> This work takes place after Will's check-up scene in 1x08—"No, I got here on my own, but I appreciate the company."

As much as William Graham would understand, he would remove himself from the room as quickly as teeth grit to form the word: _go_. He recalls moments that come and go, a ringing in his ears that blends into the symphony. A sound that stretches and reaches and feels under his skin. The scrape of each note, each little stop grinding into his nerve endings, the vibrations rippling until they dig into bones. Digging away his bones; digging away his outline until he is just dust. Little shavings of himself. Bits of resin.

A kiss that brushes into the lips, ticklish and quivering until interrupted. That ringing.

_It comes and goes._

"Will."

And as many times before, his eyes blink out to form Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He wears a face that isn't especially concerned, but especially observant. Dark eyes that sink into his own; the flood. It's one that quietens it. A hand over the strings, hushing the sound until it dies over the furthest corners of an echo. The furthest seats a concert hall can hold.

Will feels around himself. An especially damp chair for someone as tidy as his host. He second guesses the choice of words—a few more blinks as the image sharpens out. Indeed, Hannibal Lecter, yet another version of the man. Scrapes and cuts carved into what he imagined would remain in one form, one version.

Yet, so perfectly situated at the seat across from himself. The scenery of a session with bits and pieces of what may be Hannibal Lecter scattered across the room. He finds himself eying where the stag once was. He doesn't know why.

"How long?"

"Two hours. Approximately."

" _Approximately?_ "

"I admit not keeping count."

Will finds a chuckle caught up in his throat, letting it pop out the moment the doctor's lips pinch into a smile. Especially small. _Quiet_. Will's eyes wander and find the doctor's fingers laced together, steady despite how unusually unkempt the rest of him may seem. This man, suit and flesh just sitting with the rest of him, pieces of the aftermath here and there. The doctor always finds a way to blend in.

"I feel..." Will swallows his words. Almost regurgitated until he coughs something fresh up, "It would be appropriate... for me to offer you _that_."

_'That?'_ He could offer the man a good rest while keeping company. Keeping watch, but not to the same degree as the doctor commits to, he imagines.

"After all, you aren't in the best of states," a nod to, well, all of him, "to be acting as my psychiatrist."

He's quiet. The silence is loud, if possible. It's apparently only a beat, just a moment Will feels dragged until the doctor parts his lips to speak.

"Before, you said 'yes'—Conversations or—"

" _Don't_."

"You still think of your meeting and parting with a kiss."

Will is taken aback. It is his turn for silence. There is untouched tea in his lap. It has gone cold.

"My services and effectiveness for comfort are disgraced at the moment, nevertheless, I'm more than willing to oblige."


End file.
